


Code Pink

by angelswatchingover



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gen, M/M, Mentions of non-con, Post episode s04e12: Lazarus, Spoilers through Season 4, The Gallaghers deal with Ian's illness, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelswatchingover/pseuds/angelswatchingover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Ian's illness, Mickey and the Gallaghers deal with it the best that they can.  Mental illness is a family disease and everyone deals with it in their own way.  This is a collection of one shots, each chapter from a different person's point of view, showing how they cope with Ian's bipolar disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lip

Lip takes a drag from his cigarette and closes his book. Bio-chem is just going to have to wait. He can’t concentrate on it anyway. Who the hell cares about nucleic acids and monosaccharaides when his little brother is having a Monica-style melt down? And really, does Ian have to pick now of all times to pull this shit? 

It’s always been him and Ian. They are practically Irish twins and were pretty much inseparable growing up. Ian isn’t just his brother, he’s his best friend. They’ve always told each other everything and it always felt like they could deal with anything together. 

That is up until Mickey’s wedding. He never expected Ian to take it so hard, still finds it unbelievable that his quiet, easy going brother would fall so hard for Mickey Milkovich, one of the most hardened street thugs of the south side. Mickey: who terrorized the high school and streets alike, who broke the fingers of anyone who owed him money, who lied and cheated and stole to get what he wanted. He just didn’t get it. What did Ian see in him? Not that Lip hasn’t had some colossal relationship fuck-ups of his own.

But Ian did fall for the Mickey, against Lip’s best advice. He pined away for delinquent no matter how many times Mickey had pushed him away. Lip had told him to forget about Milkovich, told him to find someone new (preferably not someone twice his age and married this time). He was sure Mickey would always hurt his brother. And if Mickey didn’t, there was always Terry, who was downright deadly.

He should have known Ian wouldn’t listen to him. His brother is such a damn optimist, always seeing the best in people. This is the kid who believed that Mickey loved him through the fists, who loved Monica through all of her insanity, who attended that ridiculous farce of a wedding for Frank and Sheila knowing full well Frank isn’t even his dad. Ian’s got way too much heart for his own good.

And then there was Mickey’s wedding. Something snapped in Ian at that wedding. Something changed. That was the first time he noticed it. Ian had spent days barely functioning after Mickey married that whore. Fuck! He could kick himself now for not seeing it sooner. Was that Ian’s first dip into depression? At the time it just seemed like typical jilted lover bullshit. But looking back… always the 20/20 hindsight. Ian had given Carl his favorite knife, told Lip he was over Mickey, and just up and fucked off to the Army. It wasn’t like Ian at all.

And between all of Fiona’s incarcerations, Liam’s near death experience, Frank’s transplant, and fucking midterms he hadn’t done anything about Ian’s crazy behavior since he got back either. And that shit should have been the real red flag. He’d been running eight miles on two hours of sleep, spewing out crazy ideas, constantly writing fuck only knows what in that torn up notebook, and Mickey said he had been doing drugs at the club. It was Monica all over again. 

Monica. 

Sitting at his dorm room desk he stares blankly at the window, cigarette burning between his fingers, the ashen end getting longer and longer. He can still feel the crippling disgust and fear from that day. Just the idea that his brothers and sisters had to see their mother there on the kitchen floor, blood pooling in macabre puddles at her sides, it made him furious. 

But he got through it, they all did. They cleaned up after hurricane Monica and soon life barreled on. But this is different. This is Ian. Fuck! The thought of Ian hurting himself -- there would be no getting over that!

The anger seethes under his skin. No matter how many times they get away from Monica she just keeps haunting them. Even gone, her crazy fucking DNA stays behind and hurts his family. Lip stands up, slams his fists down on his desk and screams in frustration, swiping everything off the desktop onto the floor. 

He puts out his cigarette, grabs his coat and storms out the door. He wants someone to blame, someone to punch, someone to scream at, to bleed his venomous fury into before it consumes him from the inside. So he waits outside of the Alibi, knowing he’ll be out soon enough.

Mickey comes out of the red door, lighting a cigarette and pulling his coat closer around his shoulders and doesn’t notice Lip in the shadows. Lip takes just a few steps behind him before he grabs the shorter man by the shoulder, whips him around and slams his fist hard into the man’s face.

“What the _fuck_?!” Mickey yells before lunging back at Lip.

But Lip is ready and the two men are lost in a fury of fists. Lip knows Mickey is a scrapper and too late thinks he should have brought a bat with him. He can feel pain in his knuckles and in his face where Mickey has split his skin and it feels good. It feels real, visceral. At least this is something he can do. He can punch and kick and draw blood from human flesh. It’s the antidote to the untouchable phantom that haunts his brother’s mind that he is so powerless against. 

Mickey may be shorter but he’s fought everyone on south side and he quickly gets Lip on his back and pins his arms painfully under his knees and hands. A quick shift has him pulling a small gun out of the back of his jeans, pointing it an inch from Lip’s face.

“You wanna fuckin’ die, Gallagher?”

“You fucking broke him! He loved you and you married that whore, you fucking _pussy_!” Lip is struggling under Mickey, wanting to hurt the man not just with fists but with the words he spits and he can see the second his punch lands. 

Mickey’s face falls, he breaks eye contact and lowers the gun, looks away and bites his lip as he releases a sharp ragged breath. He can see the pure raw pain on Mickey’s face but somehow it doesn’t give him the satisfaction he was hoping for. Not at all. Because that’s when he sees it. Holy shit! Mickey Milkovich is totally and completely in love with his brother! 

He had known something changed between the two since Ian had gotten back. Mickey was just barely hiding the fact that they were banging, staying at their house, going to work with Ian at a gay bar. And he knew that Mickey had been outed last week at the Alibi (news travels fast in the south side). He hadn’t been there to see what happened and Ian had crashed two days later so he didn’t know who had outed him, only that it ended with Terry and his brother fighting Ian and Mickey. 

But what he didn’t realize until now, until this very moment, was that Ian wasn’t just a fuck for Mickey. No, the pain on his face is much too real. Mickey loves Ian. Lip has just attacked the one guy that he’s going to need on his side to help Ian get through this. 

Mickey gives Lip’s shoulders a shove and his head bounces painfully off of the snow covered sidewalk. He gets off of him and turns his back to Lip, who scrambles to his feet immediately, still breathing heavily, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“I didn’t… I couldn’t… fuck,” Mickey growls out under shaky breath. 

“Shit! Mickey, sorry, man. This isn’t your fault.”

Mickey whips around, pointing at Lip and snaps, “No, you were right the first fuckin’ time. I messed this shit up but _I’m_ gonna fucking fix it.”

“No really,” Lip argues. “This hammer’s been just waiting to fall. Our genes? He’s probably lucky it’s just bipolar. Our DNA is like a fuckin’ cocktail of mental disorders just waiting to explode.”

Lip lights a cigarette and offers one to Mickey, who accepts and takes a long drag of the satisfying smoke. 

“Jesus, and I thought my family was a freak show.” Mickey wipes some blood off of his mouth where he had been punched and adjusts his jaw.

Lip huffs a laugh, “Welcome to the big time, Mickey. Gallaghers specialize in crazy.”

Mickey gestures towards the sidewalk. “C’mon, you should see him” he tells Lip and the two head to the Milkovich home.

“So… what has Ian told you about our mother?”

“I dunno. He was pretty freaked out when she first showed up and I knew about her Thanksgiving day bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, she’s bipolar. She’ll be manic one week and practically comatose the next. She’s impulsive and irresponsible and a pretty big fucking mess. And I’m not saying Ian’s going to end up like her but you need to be prepared. So let me ask you,” Lip stops walking to look directly at Mickey. “Do you love him? ‘Cause… this isn’t easy. It can get downright ugly.”

“What kind of fucking question is that?! I’m fucking here aren’t I? I dragged his tweaked out ass out of the fuckin’ Fairy Tale. I didn’t kill Frank or your weak ass back there at the Alibi. And oh yeah, and I came out in front of half the goddamn south side and sent my own dad back to prison. Shit’s already ugly. Don’t worry about me.”

Lip just raises his eyebrows and does his best not to smile because, yeah, Mickey totally loves his brother.

Mickey takes another drag of his cigarette and asks, “So what the fuck to do we do for him?”

“Well, meds? Therapy? Probably the place to start.”

“No way, man! Fiona already tried to get me to send him to the nut house. Now you want him all drugged out?! Ain’t happening!”

“There’s outpatient,” Lip continues cautiously before blowing a hit of smoke out, “and the meds, well they’ve gotta be better than where he is now, right?”

Mickey shifts back and forth uncomfortably, breathing heavily as he considers Lip’s suggestion. “So what meds?”

“Well, Monica would sometimes do OK on Lithium… when she’d take it, that is.”

“Oh, he’ll fuckin’ take it if we gotta hold him down and shove it down his throat.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lip deadpans as they reach the Milkovich home and make their way up the front steps. 

Lip heads towards the bedroom that Ian hasn’t left in days to find his brother curled on his side, blankets pulled up to his chin. 

“Hey man, how you feeling?” He says softly, shaking his brother’s shoulder. 

“’m tired, Lip,” Ian mumbles.

“I know, man. We’re going to get you straightened out, m’K?” Lip lights another cigarette.

Ian gets a far-away look in his eyes and whispers, “I don’t care. I know I’m like Monica. I’ll destroy everyone like she did.”

“No way, man. Monica’s a selfish bitch who left her kids. That’s not you.”

“I left too. What if I’m always going to be like her?” The question hangs in the air heavy, neither man wanting to think about the answer. 

“We’ll get you help. You’ll be OK. You know… Monica only had Frank. You’ve got me and Fiona, Deb and Carl and Liam. We’ll get you through this.” 

Lip sits on the bed next to Ian, leans his head back on the headboard and takes a deep hit of his cigarette offering it to Ian, who shakes his head and looks away before pulling the blankets tighter around his neck.

“I knew something was wrong in the Army,” Ian breathes out, barely a whisper. “And I couldn’t control it. What kind of person knows they are fucking up and can’t even control it? And now I messed up everything.”

Tears are flowing freely down his face now and Lip has to look away. 

“All I wanted was to be an officer but I’m not smart like you. They didn’t want me. And now I even screwed up being enlisted, too. It was all for nothing. I don’t have anything. And now I dragged Mickey into my shit.” 

Lip scoffs, “So you know how I was always telling you that Mickey was a bad idea?”

“Don’t-” Ian starts but is cut off by Lip.

“No, I want to let you know I was wrong. Pretty sure he loves you. You know that, right?”

“No. Now that he came out he’ll move on. Look at me. I’m a mess. Why would he stay with me?” 

“You dumb-ass,” Lip chides affectionately, “The only reason he’s out is _for_ you. So don’t tell me you don’t have anything. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“What if I’m like Monica? I don’t want to do that to him or anyone else,” Ian says, wiping another tear from his eye. “I’ve made such a mess.”

“You know the thing about messes?” Lip asks and rests his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You can always clean ‘em up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for your kudos and comments. I really appreciate the feedback. 
> 
> In season four, I really missed the close friendship that Lip and Ian shared previously. It’s one of my favorite relationships on Shameless. So I would definitely like to have seen more of Lip realizing there was something wrong with Ian and dealing with his illness. I also think Lip has some pretty major anger issues and wouldn’t know how else to deal with Ian’s condition than with his usual method of punching whomever he sees as the cause of the problem. I loved trying to dig a bit into his psyche and I hope that you enjoy my little take on Lip Gallagher.


	2. Carl

“My brother needs Lithium,” he tells the woman behind the bulletproof glass at the free clinic.

Without looking up from her paperwork she drones, “Appointment sign up sheet’s on the left. He’ll need ID and insurance or state medical card.” 

“He can’t come in. He’s too sick,” Carl pleads.

The woman glances up, sighs, and recites a spiel she has obviously rehearsed a thousand times. “If you feel he is a danger to himself or others, contact your local authorities. They can retain him for an involuntarily commitment for a period of up to 5 days.”

Carl narrows his eyes on the woman who is obviously not going to be any help. He turns around, scanning the room until he spies what he is looking for. He takes the pen from the sign in clipboard, walks over to the staff registry, and writes the names of the four doctors on his hand before throwing the pen over his shoulder and walking out the door.

~ * ~

It takes him three tries before he hits the jackpot. A guy in his late-twenties comes out of the small one-bedroom apartment in the old brownstone wearing a grey pea coat and scarf with his brown hair artfully tousled. He is carrying a well-groomed Yorkie in his arm. The tiny dog is wearing a red Chicago Blackhawks sweater and its owner lets it affectionately nuzzle his cheek while he grins and rubs under the animal’s chin. He puts the little dog down on the sidewalk, clips on its leash and heads to the dog park a few blocks away, tucking a yellow plastic poop bag in his pocket. 

Carl grins to himself, formulating a plan as he follows the man and his dog at a distance. It’s been three days of following boring doctors but he’s pretty sure this is the one. The first one on the list was a middle aged woman who looked tough as nails. She lived by herself and spent her evenings smoking and drinking down at Mulner’s bar, plus she carried a gun in her coat pocket. So Carl scratched her name off first. The second one was an older man who was balding on top but wore his long greying hair in a ponytail. He came to work every day on an old customized motorcycle wearing a beat up leather jacket. A quick Internet search told Carl that he lived in one of the suburbs where the busses don’t run. Carl scratched his name off the list too.

But this guy’s just what he was looking for. Doctor Bradley James. This guy doesn’t seem to have any family that Carl has seen, unless you count that dog he has been fussing over. He looks about as out of place in this neighborhood as Jimmy-Steve always had. He’s probably one of those rich do-gooders slumming it to help the poor masses down here on the south side. Carl scoffs as he watches the man unleash his dog and play with the animal, giving it treats when it rolls over or sits up on its hind legs.

Carl’s plan goes into action the next day. On his way from school, he takes a detour by the abandoned apartment building that now only houses junkies until the police clear them out every couple of months. The walls are crumbling and he finds the perfect sized brick, stuffing it into his backpack before heading toward the brownstone that houses Dr. Bradley James. He sneaks around to the back of the house, dragging a trash can over below a window before climbing up on it and throwing the brick through the low window. 

He clears the sharp glass edges away with a stick and carefully climbs into the window. It only takes a moment before the little dog comes bounding into the kitchen where he now stands, yipping excitedly at the company. It runs right to Carl when he bends down with a dog treat and he checks its collar to find that the dog’s name is Ellie. Ellie is quickly picked up and shoved squirming into his backpack before he jumps back through the broken window and casually strolls to the clinic for part two of his plan.

Bonnie had shown him how to steal a car by smashing in the window but he doesn’t want to steal this one, in fact he needs to get into it with the windows intact. Sometimes it pays to have a big sister who dates car thieves, though. He takes off his backpack and rummages for the tool that he had stolen from Jimmy ages ago. The little dog in the bag excitedly tries to climb out but he successfully shoves Ellie back down and zips it closed again. He isn’t very good at this and he has to keep stopping when he sees other people around but eventually he hears a click and when he tests the door handle a thrilling satisfaction runs through him as the door opens easily.

He climbs into the back seat and hides down on the floor while he waits. He lets Ellie out of the bag and plays with the little Yorkie, giving her a few more of the treats he brought. She really is pretty cute and he finds himself being gentler with her than he can ever remember being with an animal. He lets her lick his face and doesn’t even realize that he is grinning and giggling at the affection.

Soon, though, it’s time and he settles Ellie in one hand and digs his weapon out of his bag with the other. He hears a click and realizes that the doctor must have just hit the unlock button on his keys and he freezes. Patiently, he waits for the doctor to start up the car and pull out of the parking place before he pops up from his hiding place, Ellie in one hand and taser in the other.

“Hey, Doc, if you don’t want me to fry little Ellie here, I need you to do what I say.”

The doctor slams on his breaks and turns around, a look of horror on his face as he sees his precious dog in the hands of a crazed looking boy with a taser. 

“What the hell are doing?!”

“Like I said, I just need you to do something for me and the dog doesn’t get hurt.”

“Are you kidding me? Where are your parents?” The doctor looks around the car stupidly as if he would find them sitting in the back seat next to Carl. “Who _are_ you?”

“Mom’s ran off. Dad’s a drunk. And I’m your worst nightmare. Now drive. I’ll tell you were to go.”

“Do you want money? I only have about twenty on me.” The man moves to dig in his pocket for his wallet before Carl stops him. 

“I don’t want your money. My brother’s sick and he needs a doctor so you’re gonna see him.”

His jaw drops and for a moment he is silent until he shakes his head a little telling Carl, “You know we see everyone at the clinic?”

“He won’t come. He’s bipolar and my sister said he needs Lithium and you’re going to give it to him.”

“I see,” Dr. Bradley James says and the expression on his face softens before he sighs. “Where’s your brother?”

“Four blocks ahead, turn left on Wilcox.”

The doctor begins driving and looks in the rear view mirror, “Hey, could you put that taser away? I don’t want you to hurt her.”

“Nope. I’m not turning this off until you’ve seen Ian.”

The doctor sighs, “Fine, just be careful, OK? No one needs to get hurt here.” After a pause he continues, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Doesn’t matter. Turn right here. It’s the house on the corner.”

The doctor stops in front of Mickey’s house and Carl waits for him to get out before following, still gripping hard to Ellie’s squirming little body in one hand and the taser in the other. He gestures for the doctor to go up the stairs and knock on the door. 

Mickey answers the door eyeing the doctor suspiciously before his eyes land on Carl taking in the dog and the taser. “What the fuck?”

“Um, I’m Dr. Bradley James and this young man has asked me to come and see his brother. Are you Ian?”

“No. He’s… he’s inside.”

Carl looks at Mickey and tells him matter-of-factly, “Ian couldn’t get to the doctor so I brought one to him.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows and shakes his head a little, “Well, come in, I guess.”

He shows the doctor to Ian’s room and shuts the door behind them.

He whips around to Carl, “Are you fucking crazy? You kidnapped a doctor by taking his dog hostage?” 

Carl just shrugs his shoulders like this is the most normal thing in the world. 

“Jesus,” Mickey says and lights a cigarette, “fucking Gallaghers.”

After a moment Carl tilts his head and looks up at Mickey, “Are you gonna marry my brother?”

“No, we’re not gonna get fuckin’ married!”

“You guys have sex, right?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Shut the fuck up!”

“I didn’t have sex with my girlfriend, but I love her. She went away but… I think she’ll be back. I’ll wait for her.”

“Why the fuck you think I care?”

Carl shrugs, “I dunno. You and Ian waited for each other so I guess that means you love each other too.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, do all you Gallaghers talk this much?”

Carl just makes a satisfied face and sits down on the floor to play with Ellie. Mickey shuffles back and forth before grumbling, “I need goddamn drink.”

“I’ll take a beer,” Carl tells him without taking his eyes off of Ellie.

“Beer? You 14?”

Carl shrugs again, “Somethin’ like that.”

Mickey retrieves two bottles from the kitchen, returning to the living room and handing one to Carl before slumping down on the couch and taking a long drink of his own.

After a short while, Dr. James comes out of the bedroom and eyes Carl and the beer in his hand before addressing Mickey, “Are you his partner?”

Carl sees Mickey hesitate for a moment, looking around the room cautiously before swallowing and answering, “Um, yeah?”

“What can you tell me about his condition?”

“Up until a week ago he was bouncing off the fucking walls. Going 20 hours a day, runnin’ eight miles, planning crazy shit. Then one day he just wouldn’t get up.”

“Our mom’s bipolar and my sister thinks Ian might be too,” Carl chimes in.

The doctor nods knowingly, “Well, between the manic behavior you described and where he is now, this definitely looks like bipolar disorder to me and he is experiencing a pretty severe depressive episode. I’d like to start him on Lithium but I _need_ to get medical records started for him or I could lose my license. I don’t… normally do house calls but I _do_ want to help, and not just because you’re threatening my dog,” he says pointedly to Carl. He takes a pad from the messenger bag he had brought in with him and jots something down before tearing off the paper and handing it to Mickey along with a business card.

“Listen, I’ll give you a script for a week to get him started but you’ve got to get him to the clinic so I can do a full work up, OK? Here the script and my card. I wrote my hours on there.”

Mickey looks dumbfounded, glancing from prescription and the card in his hand back up to the doctor before telling the man, “He’s not going to the nut house.”

“Not all bipolar patients need to be hospitalized. And we prefer the term psychiatric hospital to nut house. Let’s get him on some meds and see how he does before talking about hospitalization. Now,” he turns to Carl, “if there’s nothing else, can I have Ellie back?”

Carl hands the little dog to the doctor and watches as she excitedly wiggles in his grasp, trying to get to his face. The doctor heads towards the door but turns around at the last minute. “You know, he’s lucky to have you,” he tells Carl before directing his attention to Mickey, “both of you.”

As the door closes behind him, Carl turns to face Mickey and gives him the most smug smile he can, and crosses his arms and lifts his chin in pride at a job well done.

Mickey actually cracks a bit of a smile himself and shakes his head, “You know you ain’t half bad, kid?”

Carl nods his head and tells Mickey, “Yeah, I’m kind of a bad ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Carl, especially in season 4. This kid is definitely the problem solver of the Gallagher clan. His methods may be shocking and unconventional but he is the one who will drug his dad and break his leg for him, give half a dozen cold hungry kids a place to sleep, hit Frank in the nuts to wake him up, or let himself be hit by a car to keep his dad out of trouble. While everyone else is worrying and arguing about what to do, Carl is getting shit done! In this chapter I wanted to, once again, tap into his problem solving skills and show that while everyone else is looking the other way, Carl is the one making things happen. Hope you enjoy this chapter about our favorite little delinquent.


	3. Liam

Debbie pulls a hat down on Liam’s head and lifts him up onto the couch where she crouches down in front of him to put on his shoes.

“Want to go see Ian?” she asks him cheerfully.

“Ian! Ian!” Liam squeals in glee and jumps up and down on the couch. 

Debbie gives him a frustrated sigh and pulls him back down. “We can’t go unless you let me put on your shoes first.”

Liam sits immediately; lifting his little sock clad foot up so that his sister can maneuver his boot onto it. He can’t wait to see Ian! His brother is so big and strong. Liam loves when Ian picks him up in his arms and throws him over his head. It’s a little scary but mostly thrilling and it always takes his breath away as he squeals in delight. But he has complete trust that Ian will always catch him. He will tell him “Again! Again!” and Ian will call him buddy and laugh as he lifts him towards the sky over and over. Ian’s strong arms never seem to get tired of holding him.

Maybe he will ask Ian to read to him. Ian is a good reader because he gives all the characters funny voices that make Liam laugh when he reads out loud. He loves to snuggle up on his big brother’s lap with a book and let Ian tickle his tummy and blow raspberries on his neck until he is breathless with giggles. Then, he’ll sit back against Ian’s chest and listen as he reads his favorite book to him. Yes, he can’t wait to see Ian.

“OK,” says Debbie grabbing his hand once his boots are on. “Let’s go.”

“Wanna bring Ian,” he cries and tears his little hand from hers. He runs to his basket of toys and digs until he finds the well-worn Army man action figure. It’s wearing camouflage just like Ian does and where it once had blonde hair, Liam had colored over the plastic head with red marker to make it look more like his brother before naming the action figure Ian.

Liam clutches his action figure in his chubby little hands and reaches out his free hand to take Debbie’s.

They trudge through the cold to the house where Debbie says Ian is. Halfway there he complains about his feet and Debbie carries him the rest of the way.

When they get to the brown house next to the noisy El track, Debbie hands Liam over to a woman whose hair is a pretty red color like Ian’s but she smells funny and it tickles his nose. But she is nice to him and she leads him to a couch and sits down next to him with a baby in her arms.

Liam is fascinated with the infant. It coos and waves its fat little arms around aimlessly. Liam loves babies. V even let him hold one of hers on his lap yesterday (with Fiona’s help). They are soft and wiggly and they smell good and he likes to kiss their foreheads. He touches the baby’s soft black hair and shows him his Ian action figure.

The woman tells him the baby’s name is Yevgeni and he tries to repeat it back but the best he can manage is “Geny” and she smiles at him for his effort. 

“Yes, you call him Geny,” she says to him.

But he bores quickly of the infant when it begins falling asleep in the woman’s arms. “I wanna play wif Ian,” he whines to her.

“You wait,” she says, “your sister first.”

Debbie disappeared behind a door several minutes ago and was replaced in the living room by the noisy man named Mickey who never stops moving. Liam doesn’t know if he likes Mickey or not. The man is a little scary. He talks loud and sharp and uses lots of words that Liam isn’t allowed to say and his hands are always moving too fast. But Ian kissed him back at their house and snuggled with him in his bed so maybe he isn’t bad. 

Mickey is pacing back and forth near the door that Debbie went through, dragging a hand over his mouth. Liam bravely gets up and goes to the man, tugging on his pant leg to get his attention. Mickey stops and looks down.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have Ian?” He asks wanting to see his brother.

“Do I ha-- Yeah, he’s here.”

“Why?”

“Uh… he’s sick.”

“Are you gonna make him better?” 

Mickey turns his face away from Liam, looks up at the ceiling and whispers a bad word that Liam isn’t allowed to say. After a shaky breath, he turns back to Liam and tells him, “Yeah, little man, I am.”

“I brung Ian. Wanna see?”

“The hell you mean you brought Ian?”

Liam lifts up the hand that is still clutching the Army man and hands it to Mickey. “Ian!” he tells the man confidently.

Mickey bites his lip and nods his head. “Yeah, this does look like Firecrotch, doesn’t it? C’mon, you want to see him?”

Liam nods enthusiastically and Mickey knocks softly on the door before opening it. Liam wants to run into the room and jump into Ian’s arms but it’s quiet in the room and something tells him he shouldn’t. Debbie is sitting on the edge of a bed and Ian is lying under the covers. Maybe it’s nap time.

Liam toddles over to the edge of the bed and puts his hands up to Debbie so she can lift him up onto the bed. She sits him next to her and he crawls over to sit Indian style right next to Ian’s head. He grabs Ian’s cheeks between his chubby sticky fingers and leans in whispering loudly, “Ian, wake up. I wanna fly, Ian.”

Ian’s eyes flutter open and a hint of recognition paints across his face as the brothers bump noses. “Hey, buddy. Not today, OK? I’m really tired.”

“Is it nap time?” Liam asks but doesn’t wait to hear the answer. He lays his head on the pillow next to Ian and stretches his little body out beside his brother’s. His face is and inch away from Ian’s as they share the pillow.

Ian lifts his arm over Liam and holds him close. He closes his eyes and brings his lips to Liam’s forehead and as tears drip down his face. 

When he pulls back, Liam touches a tear with his finger and whispers, “Don’t cry, Ian. It’s just a nap. We can play when you get up and you can give me airplane rides.”

“I promise… airplane rides,” Ian whispers and he gives Liam a small smile. 

They lay together in silence, Liam’s soft, warm little body curled up against his big brother’s strong chest, held safely under his arm. And Liam is just nuzzling under Ian’s chin to settle in for his nap when Debbie tells him that they have to go and let Ian rest so he can get better. He wants to stay, wants to nap next to Ian so he can wake up to tickle fights and an airplane rides. But Debbie says no and leads him out of the room and puts his coat and hat back on. 

They are about to walk out the front door when Mickey calls to them, “Hey, you forgot your toy.” He squats down to give Liam back his action figure. 

“You keep Ian,” Liam says and pushes Mickey’s hand with the action figure away. “Want me to bring you a Mickey army man so you can play wif him?”

“Uh… K? Hey, you made ‘im smile. You should… come back.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Ian promised me a airplane ride.”

“Well, kid, we’ll have to hold him to that, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would give little Liam a voice of his own in this fic. On Shameless he's got to be around 3 or 4 and anyone who's been around a 4 year old knows they can talk your ear off and drive you nuts with the "whys." So, even though we don't hear much from him on the show, I wanted to build some great sibling moments and shed a little light into the relationship between him and Ian through this story. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks again for reading and for your comments and kudos. It's great to hear from other Shameless fans during this long hiatus.


	4. Mickey

Ian looks at Mickey, _really_ looks at him. He has this way of just staring, locking eyes and holding him there. It’s always been something of a mystery to Mickey. Growing up in the Milkovich household you don’t make eye contact, not for long anyway, not unless you are staring down an enemy. Not unless it’s a show of dominance and then it’s meant to induce fear... never compassion or understanding or love.

So when he started this thing with Ian, it was one of the hardest things to get used to. Ian looked at him… all the fucking time! Didn’t just look at him, actually _saw_ him. It was fucking weird! Everyone else cowered around Mickey, nervously avoiding eye contact. But not Ian, he would just study him with that smug fucking grin under all those freckles, all calm and knowing like he just _knew_ him or some shit. 

And Mickey, confident, in control Mickey, would be the one getting flustered, shuffling back and forth on his feet, avoiding eye contact and chewing on his bottom lip. He would find himself stealing glances at Ian out of the corner of his eye or smirking as he hungrily roamed his eyes over Ian’s body – anything to avoid getting caught in Ian’s gaze. It made him so uncomfortable that one time he even griped at Ian, asking him what the fuck he was looking at and Ian never did answer. 

Ian was the only person to ever look at Mickey and see past his armor of dirt and vitriol. Ian looked at Mickey with this look of fucking adoration that Mickey simultaneously couldn’t stand and couldn’t live without. The way Ian focused on him was the most intense thing he had ever experienced. The damn redhead even did it when they were fucking. Mickey used to always look away, face away from Ian, or close his eyes to avoid feeling taken apart by Ian’s eyes. 

And then, after Ian got back from the Army, there was that time when they were banging in Ian’s bed after all those fucking Gallaghers finally cleared out of the house. He was on his back, chin raised so he could stare at some crack on the ceiling when Ian grabbed his face and forced him to look right into his eyes growling a command, “Look at me, Mickey,” and fuck if Mickey couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He let Ian see him, _really_ see him as he broke down to a quivering mess, tattooed fingers buried in that red hair and sweaty legs wrapped shamelessly around Ian’s waist. 

And when he came it was with Ian’s name on his lips as he was completely engulfed in the redhead’s gaze. It was the most intimate and intense thing he had ever experienced and he was like a junkie taking his first hit. After that he couldn’t get enough of the way they locked eyes, couldn’t get enough of that raw honesty and intensity that passed between them. 

Ian had changed him, made him into a man who could now look straight into his eyes and tell him that they are a couple and that whatever this is between them -- this connection -- it gives him the freedom to be who he is. Ian is like a lifeline for him, the only person in his entire fucked up life that he could ever be himself with. The mere thought of going back to what he was before Ian, completely isolated, locked inside himself, terrifies him. 

That’s why he is ‘out’ now. The bone deep terror of losing Ian was enough for him to finally overcome the fear of Terry Milkovich. Nothing… _nothing_ has ever stolen the breath from his lungs and stopped his heart like hearing Ian say the words, “four years, minimum.” He had had a taste of someone knowing him, wanting him, _seeing_ him, looking into him in that way only Ian could. And losing that while Ian was away had been crippling. 

And that’s why now his fear is nearly strangling him. When Ian looks up at him from under the covers there’s no connection – he practically looks right through him through glassy glazed over eyes. Fuck, he misses that look, misses it like a drowning man misses the air. He wonders how he ever lived without that goddamn laser focus of Ian’s during those months when he was away.

It’s been a week and Ian has barely made eye contact. He just lays in that fucking bed, barely speaking. Mickey has tried everything he can think of to coax Ian out of bed: kindness, bribery, sex, food, begging, threats, and even anger. Nothing has worked. Sometimes Ian will seem a little better, he’ll sit up and talk for a bit, eat something. But before long his eyes start to droop and he’ll tell Mickey how tired he is and that he needs to rest.

It’s infuriating, terrifying, lonely. So Mickey just tries to hold it together. He does his work, feeds the baby when Svetlana’s out, and deals with the seemingly endless visits from all of the Gallagher clan. He still can’t believe that little kid got a doctor over here to start Ian on Lithium. At least he’s been able to get the meds into him for the past few days. He’s giving the redhead the rest of the week before he drags his ass down to the clinic kicking and screaming if he has to. 

He’s just about to throw some Spaghetti-Os on the stove and force Ian to eat some when he hears a crash come from the bedroom. Fear like he can’t remember ever feeling before overtakes him. His blood freezes in his veins and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he remembers Fiona’s words, “He could end up suicidal.”

The metal can falls from his hand and pasta spills out over the kitchen floor as Mickey runs towards the bedroom. He throws the door open and immediately sees that the bed is empty. How ironic that for a week all he has wanted to see was Ian out of that bed and now the empty bed does nothing but increase his fear until he can feel the frantic pulse of his own heartbeat in his hears. He calls Ian’s name as he opens the door to the bathroom but it’s empty too.

He runs his hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves as his traitorous mind taunts him with every terrifying scenario of what Ian could be doing. When he turns around he sees it, a shock of red hair on the floor by the side of the bed. 

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” he grumbles as he rushes to the man’s side, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Mickey,” Ian mumbles when he opens his eyes and sees his boyfriend squatting down over him, “I was going to get up… get a shower. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t make it.”

“It’s probably ‘cause you’ve been eating like a fucking anorexic for the past week. C’mon, let’s get you up,” Mickey tells Ian as he sits him up and prepares to help him to his feet.

“No… just… wait.” Ian sounds defeated and it breaks something inside of Mickey to hear that out of the man who has always been so strong.

Mickey sits Ian up with his back against the wall under the window while he reaches over and grabs a blanket off the bed. He throws it over Ian and sits down next to him. Ian almost immediately leans against him for support, resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey forces himself not to flinch at the affectionate gesture, years of conditioning against any forms of tender touching working against his desire to make this thing work with Ian. He tells himself again that he’s out now, that Terry is in prison and there’s nothing to fear by touching Ian.

Ian sighs, “I hate feeling this way, Mick.”

“I know, man. We’ll get this shit straightened out. You’re goin’ to see that doctor this week.” Mickey reaches up and grabs the cigarettes off the night stand and lights one, offering it to Ian even though he knows he hasn’t smoked since the Army. Ian declines and he smokes it himself, slowly, savoring the deep drags of nicotine as it calms his frazzled nerves.

Ian slumps against him more, slides his head down onto Mickey’s outstretched leg and pulls the blanket under his chin. “I’m so sorry. You must want me to leave by now.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mickey tells him with maybe a bit more possessiveness than he intended. He threads his fingers through Ian’s hair and begins to rub gently, rhythmically. “I want you here… with me.”

“I screwed everything up. I dropped out of high school, I left my job, and now I screwed up the Army too. I have nothing.”

Mickey stiffens as Ian’s statement hits him “Fuck you, you got nothing! You got what you wanted. You’re in my bed. I’m South Side’s latest out and proud. What else do you want? You wanna march in the fucking gay pride parade?!”

“No, not you. I just… always thought I’d get out of here, get out of this life.”

“No one gets out of the South Side, man,” Mickey grumbles before taking a hard drag of his smoke.

“It’s stupid, I know. Before your dad caught us, I always kind of thought maybe we could get out of here… together.”

Mickey huffs a bitter laugh, “Damn, Gallagher, didn’t know you were such a dreamer.”

“C’mon, didn’t you ever have any dreams?”

Mickey thinks about this. Dreams… they are a dangerous thing to have in the Milkovich household where life is brutal, cold, dangerous. Where daily survival meant scraping for food and avoiding flying fists and bottles. When was the last time he dared to dream of something more? “Wanted to be a baseball player… ‘til I got kicked outa little league.”

“You _were_ really good. I used to watch you, didn’t see you strike out once. You know, I kinda had a crush on you even back then?”

“Jesus, Ian, you’re such a fucking sap.” A long silence hangs between them. Ian’s words cause his stomach to do an odd flip and warmth to spread through him against his will and it’s both the best and the worst thing. Jesus, Ian makes him feel so fucking good. Someone saw him, admired him, saw past the anger that seethed under his skin all the time, saw past the Milkovich name, saw past the dirt and the hand-me-downs and the angry outbursts. Ian saw him and valued him even back then. It hits closer to home than he wants to admit but this is Ian and he wants more than anything to deepen what they have. He drums up all the courage he can and whispers, “Yeah, well, I used to come into the store and fuck with Kash just to see you. Never thought I’d be jealous for my little sister’s boyfriend.”

Mickey looks down and he can see that Ian has that stupid sappy look on his face as Ian asks, “Seriously?”

“Shut up! Don’t let it go to your head. It was also fun to steal shit from that teenage-boy-fucking towel head queer.” Mickey squirms uncomfortably at the little bit of vulnerability he has just shown Ian. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the way the Gallagher can just pull that shit out of him, seemingly against his own will. But for Ian he can do it. For Ian, he thinks he would do just about anything. “Hey, you still up for that shower? C’mon, let me help.”

Ian nods and sits up slowly as Mickey stands up and pulls him the rest of the way to his feet. He’s got to get more food into Ian. He can feel the man weaving on his wobbly legs. He turns Ian and shoves him lightly towards the bathroom, grateful when he goes along. Their crappy shower isn’t exactly built for two but there’s no way he’s trusting Ian’s legs to not give out so he strips them both and drags Ian in with him. He takes his time washing them both, reaching up to shampoo Ian’s hair. Damn, is he ever going to stop growing? Ian seems to get taller every time they’re together. Who knew that scrawny freckled kid who stood up to him with a tire iron would grow up to be this tall and gorgeous? 

He doesn’t want to push Ian but this is the most life he has shown in days and Mickey can’t help but touch his lips gently to Ian’s skin. His neck, his shoulder, his jaw. Ian leans his forehead against Mickey’s and _there he is_. Ian looks at Mickey, into Mickey, and there’s that connection he has missed so much. 

Ian whispers, “Thank you, Mick,” before kissing him desperately. This is the most Ian has let himself be touched in a week and, oh God, Mickey wants. He wants to taste and touch every inch of Ian, to drop to his knees and take Ian into his mouth, to hear Ian’s laugh, see his smile, feel Ian fuck him senseless. 

He can taste the salt of tears that are streaming down Ian’s face before Ian breaks the kiss and buries his face in Mickey’s neck. Mickey just wraps his arms around Ian and holds him tightly, at a loss for how to help. But this he can do. He can stand here and hold up Ian until he can hold himself again, take his tears until he can smile again, he can fight for Ian while he is too sick to fight for himself.

Mickey doesn’t know how long they stand there for, long enough for the water to start running cold. He kicks the shower handle to turn it off while never letting go of Ian. He is almost afraid to break contact. He gets them both out of the shower, dried off, teeth brushed, and dressed in boxers but Ian seems to be running out of energy. 

Mickey figures this is progress, though. Maybe it’s the medications starting to work, maybe just the nature of the disease. Fiona did say to expect unpredictable moods. He’ll take what he can get. Ian out of bed, talking to him, showering together, and kissing him. But most of all Ian _looked_ at him again. 

Ian is still in there. The Ian who told him that they had nothing to be ashamed of and made him believe it. The Ian who came to see him in juvie when even his family wouldn’t. The Ian who was brave enough to come to Yevgeni’s christening just to be there for Mickey, knowing Terry was going to be there. The first and only person he had ever kissed. The one who encouraged him to stand up and seize control of his own life. _His_ Ian is still there, fighting to get back and as he settles down in the bed next to him, letting the man rest his head on his shoulder, he vows to do everything he can to help him. Ian made the effort once to look past everything to see Mickey, and it saved him. Now it’s his turn to see past the bi-whatever, the tears, the hiding, the sleeping, the depression, and see Ian, to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who provided feedback on this fic. The Shameless fandom is so great and I love to interact with you all. I was going to save Mickey for near the end of this fic but I decided to break his POV into a couple of chapters. Once early on in Ian’s illness to show how desperate and terrifying this is for him. And later to show how their relationship progresses as they both begin to come to terms with Ian’s illness. Hope you like my take on Mickey. He’s such a fantastic character, it makes it great to try to get into his head.


	5. Debbie

Debbie drags a chair into the bathroom and stands on it, spinning slowly around in front of the only mirror in the house long enough for her to see all the way down to her feet (if she is up on the chair that is). She stops and stares in disbelief at the young woman looking back at her. Fiona had fussed over her makeup while Veronica had worked magic on her hair. And Debbie rarely feels pretty but in this dress, wearing Fiona’s high heels, and her long hair in a soft sweeping side French braid that cascades over her left shoulder she feels almost beautiful.

Lip had given her sixty dollars from the money he had gotten from Amanda’s parents to buy a dress for the dance and she had tried on just about everything at the mall until she found the perfect one. She found it on a clearance rack in the back of one of those teen clothing stores, glad that the markdown price gave her enough left over to buy matching dangly earrings from Claire’s. She stands now admiring how the hem of the baby blue chiffon dress dances softly to just above her knees under a sweetheart bodice with a pattern of delicate silver accent swirls. 

She loves the way the dress fits her figure so nicely without making her self-conscious about her neckline. She adjusts her breasts, happy that they are finally starting to come in but still not satisfied at her pitiful little A cups. Fiona gave her push up padding to put in her bra for tonight and the effect is flattering, she notices, as she turns to her side, sticks out her chest and admires her profile. 

“Get down here, Debs, we want to see,” Fiona’s voice carries up the stairs. Her big sister had wanted to come up to her room and help her with the dress itself but she is 14 years old, not a little girl! She draws the line at being helped into a dress!

“Ugh! Hold your horses! I’m coming,” she hollers into the hallway. 

Her toes already hurt a little in the high heels but she decides a little pain isn’t going to stop her because she likes the way they make her legs look. They aren’t that high - Fiona wouldn’t let her wear the stilettos she had her eye on – but still she hopes she doesn’t embarrass herself since she is a bit wobbly on the pointy silver heels. 

She makes her way down the front staircase and V looks up from one of the babies she is feeding and squeals, “Ahhhh, baby you look beautiful!”

Fiona puts her hand over her mouth and Debbie can see tears in her eyes. Oh _brother_! “Oh my God, Debs, look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

Carl glances over from the TV program he is watching and tells her, “Still looks ugly to me.”

“Shut up, ass face!” She spits at him. God, little brothers suck! She looks around the living room and there’s someone missing. “Where’d Lip go?”

“Matty’s here,” Fiona says, gesturing to the front door. “Lip’s out there reminding him that we aren’t above calling the cops on him for statutory rape if he even thinks about not keeping it in his pants.”

“Oh my _God_ , Fiona! You guys are _so_ embarrassing. We’re going as _friends_. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I know.” Fiona walks over to Debbie and fusses with one of the blinged-out bobby pins that they had put in her hair to match the dress as Debbie fights the urge to flinch away from her sister. “Sometimes I think you’ve got more sense than the rest of us combined. You’re still our little sister, though. It’s our job to worry.”

Debbie softens and offers her sister a smile. Sometimes she just so happy to have Fiona back she forgets to put on her mask of 14 year old attitude. She even lets Fiona hug her and kiss her on the side of the head. But only until she hears the door open. Then she immediately pulls back to see Matty and Lip come in the living room, her future boyfriend eyeing Lip cautiously and looking distinctly frazzled. She wonders briefly what Lip said to scare him but only until he sees her and his expression completely changes. _That’s_ the look she was waiting for.

Debbie smiles and looks down, blushing at the compliment.

Matty shifts uncomfortably when Lip clears his throat but manages to ask, "Well... are you ready to go?"

Debbie nods and ducks out of another hug that Fiona tries to give her and heads towards the door with Matty.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” V says with a laugh.

Fiona gives her a snide look before deadpanning, “Well, at least she’ll have plenty of options.”

Debbie rolls her eyes at her embarrassing family and drags Matty out the door. 

“So,” she asks him once they’re outside, “what did Lip threaten you with?”

“He, uh, said that the last person who they caught with a minor he and some family down the street dug a grave in their front yard and threatened to bury them alive if they didn’t leave town immediately.”

“Oh,” says Debbie matter-of-factly, “I remember that. That would be the Milkoviches. Mickey Milkovich is actually my brother’s boyfriend. Can we stop there and see Ian before the dance? I haven’t visited him today and I want to show him my dress.”

Matty looks distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of going to the home of the family Lip had told him about but he acquiesces and Debbie gives him directions to the ramshackle house just a few streets over. Svetlana answers the door and lets Debbie and Matty in, pointing them in the direction of Ian’s room. Matty looks relieved when she tells them that Mickey is at the Alibi collecting his money and Debbie asks him to wait in the living room while she talks to her brother.

Ian is awake and dressed and sitting up in bed. Debbie counts this as a good sign even though he is barely moving, just staring out the window. 

“Ian? Ian, it’s Debbie,” she says and walks around to stand by the window that has her brother’s attention. His eyes do travel to her and she feels an immense relief at the recognition she can see on his face. “I’m going to a dance tonight.” 

Ian says nothing so she continues, hating the suffocating silence, wanting to fill it, whishing she could replace the silence of this room with the bustling chatter and laughter of the Gallagher’s kitchen. “This mean boy at school asked me but he was really just tricking me so his evil bitch of a sister could embarrass me. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. But I remembered what Mom says about taking it from the outside in when she’s sad. And you know, it kind of worked? Lip got me this dress and Fiona and V helped me with my hair and makeup and I kinda don’t even care about those pictures right now.”

“That’s great, Debs,” Ian says, but its flat, listless.

“Maybe you should try it. It might make you feel better, too.”

“I don’t think a pretty dress is going to help me,” Ian deadpans. The snarky comment is the most life Debbie has heard in Ian’s voice in days. He says it without his usual sweet smirk but nonetheless it’s still an attempt at humor and it thrills Debbie, just to hear it. 

“Shut up, jerk,” Debbie smiles and shoves Ian’s shoulder gently. “You know what I mean. Maybe get up and go out and stuff.”

“Maybe… I don’t know… I’m really tired.”

“I know,” Debbie says and sits down on the bed next to Ian, “I just…” she begins but can feel a prickle behind her eyes and swallows around the lump in her throat, “I just want you to feel better.”

She throws her arms around his shoulders and buries her head in his neck. “I don’t want you to end up like Mom. We need you.”

Ian hugs her back as a silent tear makes its way down his cheek.

“I was so scared when you left. I missed you so much and I thought it was going to be like Mom all over again.”

“I’m so sorry, Debs,” Ian whispers, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Debbie pulls back and dabs her eyes with the sides of her fingers, determined not to smear her makeup. “I still miss her, you know. Even with everything she did, I miss her. I mean, I don’t think I want her to live with us but I miss having a mom. Is that stupid?”

“No, it’s not stupid. I miss her sometimes, too. When she was good she could be… kind of great, actually. You know she took down Mickey’s dad once, kept him from pounding my face in?”

Debbie laughs a little, “See? That’s the kind of stuff I mean. One time, on a school night, she let me and Carl stay up all night eating popcorn and candy and watching scary movies. I know it was just part of her being manic but I really liked anyway. I just wish she could have been normal—Oh shit! I’m sorry, Ian. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s OK, Debs, I know I’m fucked up.”

“But you’re going to get better. Promise me you’ll take your Lithium. Fiona is stuck working crappy hours at the diner and she has to go to all those AA meetings. Lip’s going crazy with school. We just… we really need you, OK?”

“I know. I promise I’ll try to fix this. I don’t want to be like Mom, either. And Mickey’s been pretty… _insistent_ about me taking it.”

“Good. You know, I like Mickey. He’s good to you, like Mandy was to Lip.”

“Yeah, I like him too.”

“Matty’s good to me, but we can’t be boyfriend and girlfriend until I’m 16.”

“Don’t rush it, Debs. Enjoy being 14. Things just get harder as you get older.”

“Ugh, why does everyone say stuff like that? 14 sucks! You’re not old enough to do cool stuff like drive and have sex but you’re too old for kid stuff. And everything gets difficult and confusing like boys and mean girls. When does it get easier?”

“Do I look like I’ve got that figured out?”

Debbie purses her lips contemplatively, “I guess it’s hard for everyone, huh?”

“Yeah… yeah it is.”

A silence hangs between the siblings until Ian grabs her hand. “Hey, don’t you have a dance to go to?”

“Yeah,” Debbie says, nodding her head and getting up, straightening her dress, and fighting back the prickles behind her eyes. She can’t wait for the dance but hates to leave Ian and can’t help the fear that she feels every time she sees him like this. She heads towards the door, taking a deep breath, determined to put on a brave face.

“Hey, Debs,” Ian says before she reaches the door and she turns around to meet his eyes.

“You look really beautiful. You’re going to make that little prick sorry he did that to you. Don’t fuck with the Gallaghers, right?” Ian smiles at her, a real Ian smirk, the kind that she has missed so much since he became sick. She loves her brother so much! She runs back and gives him one last hug and can’t help the smile on her face as she leaves his room. For the first time in a week, she feels like maybe, just maybe, they are going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like my take on Debbie. I read that next season is going to pick up a few months after the events of 4x12 so we are going to miss out on Debbie going to the dance with Matty. Its such a big moment for a teenage girl, her first big dance, so I wanted to give it some attention in this fic while also highlighting her relationship with Ian. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone whose reading along with this fic and who has left really nice comments. It's so encouraging!


	6. Svetlana

Svetlana stands in front of the shattered bathroom mirror and runs her fingers through her hair. She hates fucking red hair! Hates herself for being stupid enough to change her appearance to this god-awful color. And for what? Her confusing little husband?

She had foolishly believed that he would be like one of the disgusting Johns she deals with every day. They come in and order a girl like they are ordering from a fast food menu. 

Want a platinum blonde with big tits who can act cute and bubbly? Natalya. Maybe you like brown hair, round curves, and have a mommy kink? Oksana’s your woman. You like red hair and want to spank? You go to Yuliya. But no one ever asks what that blonde likes, what the brunette’s dreams are, what that redhead’s feeling. 

Svetlana has always been a bit of a chameleon herself, trying to be whatever she needed to be at the moment. From her earliest memories, her mother had taught her to please Papa. She dressed Svetlana like the perfect porcelain doll and trained her to be quiet, obedient and attentive when Yevgeni was home. She learned to cook his favorite meals and wait for him at the door with his drink each night. She would do as he said and every so often she would be rewarded with a pat on the head or a short smile. It wasn’t much. Most of the time she was ignored by the man but the occasional reaction would make it all worthwhile. 

Svetlana was 9 when her mother died and she continued to take care of Papa. At first the short smiles disappeared completely, the father she had known became lost in his own grief. A darkness overtook him and soon she barely recognized the angry man in front of her. It had been a surprise when his little smiles were replaced with longer stares. An even bigger shock when the pats on the head became lingering touches. 

Svetlana was 10 the first time he came into her bedroom in the dark of the night. It was terrifying at first, especially when he called her by her mother’s name, but she remembered what she was taught and pleased Papa. She only cried a little at first and only after he had passed out so he wouldn’t hear her. But she was pleasing Papa, being what he needed her to be, and she told herself it was alright.

She was 13 the first time he gave her to another man, a friend of his she thinks. He told her to be a good girl and give Sergei what he wanted. Do it for Papa. She did what she was told, satisfied the man to please Papa. She must have pleased him because he smiled afterward while he was fingering the money in his hand. After that there were more men, more sweaty hands and bad breath and messy dicks, more strange men handing her father money, but none whose names she remembers.

Svetlana was 15 when Papa sold her to Yakov. She tried to give him a hug goodbye but he didn’t see her reaching out as he turned around and smiled at the roll of Rubles in his fist. At least he looked happy. But Svetlana was scared as she was ushered into a shipping container with eight other girls for the long, dark, disgusting trip to America.

In America it had been more of the same. Please the man. Be what they want – who they want. Svetlana was a dozen different women every day, depending on what the John wanted until she had no idea who she was herself.

Terry Milkovich was one of those men. He liked it rough. He was hard and brutal and with him sex was a vendetta. He liked to dominate, subjugate. And for some reason he had taken a liking to Svetlana. Maybe it was her high tolerance for pain.

So when he told her to fuck the gay out of the beaten man spread out on the couch she did as she was told. She didn’t know that the boy was Terry’s son or who the bloodied ginger was that was sitting across from him but she could certainly put two and two together. They had obviously been together and the deadly look on Terry’s face and gun pointed at the redhead made it clear who he blamed. The man she fucked wouldn’t look at her, he was looking at orange-haired boy until she supposes he couldn’t anymore and he flipped them both and finished quickly, eyes squeezed shut slurring the word sorry over and over again so quietly only she could hear it. She wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to.

The next day, Terry came to the spa and told her if she got pregnant in the next month or two to not abort, that he would get the boy from the living room, his son, to marry her. Svetlana was pleasantly surprised by this. Maybe she had done such a good job that she really did fuck the queer out of him. Maybe he really liked her. 

So she happily agreed to marry Mickey Milkovich, an arrangement that she hoped would provide her with security. And once they were married she knew it would be her job to please her husband as her parents had taught her. She did try. At the wedding reception, she had offered to fuck him in the bathroom. But he just grabbed a bottle of whiskey and disappeared while she spent the evening being fondled by her new father-in-law.

For weeks after the wedding she continued to try. She would attempt to seduce him, strut around naked, try to touch him, and once even made the mistake of trying to kiss him. He flinched away so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table behind him, his hand flying up to knock her outstretched arm away from him. Finally, she crawled on top of him one night in his sleep and began to give him a blow job. At first it seemed to work as he hardened under her attentions, even moaned a name she didn’t recognize. But when he opened his eyes and looked down, he immediately threw her off and told her to stay the fuck off of him. Mickey was the first man that Svetlana couldn’t please with sex.

It was frustrating and confusing to her and she began to hate the man she couldn’t please. She tried to manipulate him in every way she could to get him to want her instead of that ginger boy he had brought home one night. She even tried to use Terry to control his son. But Mickey had taken even that bargaining chip away from her when he shocked her by coming out and standing up to the brutish man. 

So after watching him with this ginger boy she finally thought she knew what would please her husband. He obviously liked red hair and cock. Easy enough. Red hair – L’Oreal #56. Cock – strap on dildo. And he would even get a nice set of tits to go along with it. She couldn’t lose. So when her plan backfired and she was completely rejected again by Mickey, she had to reevaluate what it was he actually saw in the orange haired boy. It was when she asked him if he loved the redhead and he responded maybe that everything made sense.

For the first time, Svetlana saw a way to please a man and maybe herself too. If Mickey wanted the ginger so be it. Let them rub their fucking dicks together if that’s what they want as long as Mickey agrees to take care of the child Terry asked her not to abort. And for Svetlana? She could let herself have Nika and maybe they could all make this strange arrangement work. 

But now there is something wrong with the orange boy. He just lays in that bed. His sister said he could become suicidal and although she doesn’t really care one way or another about the boy, she does know that she doesn’t want to lose this tenuous peace that she thinks they may have established in this home. And she knows the effects of suicide all too well. It is what took her mother away from her, after all. 

She decides that she will help her husband’s lover live. She concludes that if he lives, Mickey will be happy and she will continue to have a place to live and a father for her child. If he dies… well, Svetlana doesn’t like the ambiguity of all of the possible outcomes of that situation. She needs to secure this situation. 

No one else is at home so she picks up Yevgeni and walks into her husband’s room where the orange-haired boy is sleeping, facing away from her. She shakes the mattress with her foot and says, “Oi, carrot boy.”

“ _Ian“_ ,” he grumbles.

“You wake up,” she tells him forcefully.

“You threatenin’ me with a claw hammer again?”

“Worse, a baby.”

That gets the boy’s attention and he rolls over and eyes her, “What?”

“You want to stay here with Mickey, yes? You help with baby. We all take care of baby.”

“Look, I’m not really feeling up to babysit-”

“You help,” she interrupts in a tone that leaves no room for debate. 

Ian sighs, “Fine, what do you need?”

“Here,” she says and hands her son to the boy. “You watch Yevgeni. I go to work.”

The ginger takes the baby and he looks like he knows what he’s doing. He cradles her son easily in his arm and looks down at him as he lifts the baby’s hand with his finger and runs his thumb back and forth over the infant’s tiny fingers. It gives her an opportunity to light a cigarette and watch him tentatively.

“So, tangerine,” she says to get his attention and takes a long drag of her cigarette.

He looks up at her and sighs, “I’m taking care of your kid. Could you maybe call me Ian?”

“Ian, huh?” She thinks about this but doesn’t agree to call him by his name. “So, what’s wrong with you? Why you sleep all the time?”

“Jesus, I don’t fucking know. I’m just tired, OK?”

“My mother, she was like you,” Svetlana points at him with two fingers holding her cigarette between them and gesturing with her hands, “tired all the time. Only in America do you have time to play sick, stay in bed. In Russia, no time for that bullshit. She worked until she gave up. You not give up!”

“She worked until she… wait, did she… oh shit, sorry.”

Svetlana waves off his words and narrows her eyes at him, “She left me to care for broken man. You… do not stick me with another.”

Ian snorts, “Yeah, don’t worry, Mickey will always be fine.”

Svetlana rolls her eyes in exasperation, “Iisus khristos, kak zhe ya zastryat' s etimi dvumya glupymi grebanykh pedikov!”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Ian rolls his eyes at her.

“Stupid man!” Now that she has seen her husband with this man she knows that if this orange boy hurts himself, Mickey would not be fine at all. “Yevgeni needs Mickey. Mickey needs you. So you get better. These pills, they help you, no?”

“Yeah, I guess… I don’t know. The doctor said it could take a while to balance everything out.”

“Good. You give up… is bad for Mickey, bad for his baby.”

“Got it, no offing myself. So, it’s really his?”

Svetlana shrugs her shoulders and blows out a lungful of smoke. “It does not matter. He is married. Yevgeni his now,” she tells him with finality. 

The boy just gives her a blank look and his eyes move back to Yevgeni, scanning over the baby’s features. Svetlana wonders herself if Mickey is the father. The timing is right so he certainly could be, but he’s not exactly the only candidate. Will Yevgeni be short with black hair and big blue eyes like Mickey? Blonde and round like Terry and his other sons? Maybe look like someone else entirely? But she quickly remembers she has no time for such musings. She needs to go to work or they’ll never have enough money for diapers for the week.

“I must go to work. You take care of Yevgeni, yes?”

“Yeah, I got him.”

She drops bag with a few diapers, wipes and formula on the edge of the bed. “Here is what you need, carrot—I mean Ian,” she says and turns on her heel. She leaves for work, and for the first time in years she feels hopeful that she may be able to establish something like a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading along and who have left comments and suggestions. They are appreciated and help me to be become a better writer. I hope you like my Svetlana chapter. It's probably the most off canon I have veered, but I wanted to try to get into Svetlana's head and explore where she might be coming from in all of this mess.


	7. Mandy

Smack!

Mandy’s face feels like it’s on fire as she grabs her injured cheek with one hand and tries to catch herself with her other hand. Her attempt is futile and her body slams into a shelf, knocking it over as flotsam and jetsam go scattering across the floor under her. She stares at the objects strewn around the floor from her fallen position on all fours. That hated burn betrays her own will as the objects blur through the tears welling in her eyes.

Never again, she had said last time. Never again, he had promised. Never again, she now vows as her hand slowly slides forward to wrap around the smooth glass edge of the bottle that had broken in the fall, its sharp edge beckoning her like a moth to the flame.

She is going to kill him now, watch him bleed right here in her bedroom.

But before she can move there is a commotion behind her. She turns her head in time to see Ian, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts and a tank top swipe his leg out and take Kenyata down. In a flash of movement, the redhead jumps on the huge man’s back and slams his forehead into the floor. Kenyata lets out a yell and rolls over, sending Ian flying. But Ian is fast and there is murder in his eyes.

Before Kenyata can even get off the floor, Ian jabs his fist into his throat and stops him cold. His hand flies to his neck and he struggles to breathe. Ian quickly takes advantage of Kenyata’s weakness and jumps on his chest pounding his fists into Kenyata’s face furiously. But Ian’s strength wanes quickly. After all, he has been sick for over a week now and Kenyata manages to roll them and get Ian pinned under his significant weight.

Kenyata pulls back his fist and it lands on Ian’s face with one sickening thud but the sound of a gun clicking and Svetlana’s voice yelling, “Stop” freezes him before he can throw another.

She is standing over the fighting men holding the gun a foot away from Kenyata’s head with two hands, her eyes cold and deadly.

“You will not touch orange boy or Mandy… _ever_ again. Get up and get fuck out of house. You show ugly face again, I will fill you with bullets and dump your body in lake.”

“C’mon now,” Kenyata says while slowly getting to his feet. “You’re not really going to shoot anyone. Put the gun down.”

Without a second thought, Svetlana adjusts her aim and puts a bullet through his upper arm then turns the sites right back at the center of his head. 

“Fuck me!” Kenyata yells and doubles over grabbing his injured shoulder at the same time as Ian bucks and frees himself from under the man. From the living room comes the shriek of Yevgeni’s voice, obviously woken in fear as the loud gunshot hit his little ears. 

“You don’t bleed on floor. Get out,” Svetlana commands without the slightest waiver in her voice.

Mandy looks back and forth between her bleeding boyfriend bent over in agony to her best friend who is cautiously eyeing the proceedings and back to Svetlana who hasn’t batted an eye. 

“Fine! Fuck all y’all,” Kenyata grumbles. “Who wants to stay here anyway with white trash, whores, and crazy fags?”

“You want another hole in chest?” Svetlana growls. “Orange boy’s not crazy and this whore might just be last face you see so you should stop talking.”

Kenyata musters up all of the dignity he can (which isn’t much after hitting a girl, getting beat up by a queer, and shot by a Russian hand whore) and stalks out the front door of the Milkovich home once and for all, mumbling curses under his breath but not daring to say them out loud with Svetlana still pointing the gun at him.

Svetlana lowers the gun and exits the room without a word. Ian is breathing heavily with a faraway look in his eye, but he still manages to help Mandy to her feet and sit next to her on the bed, pulling her close with a comforting arm around her shoulder. Mandy can feel Ian vibrating beside her and she worries about the man who has been battling bi-polar disorder. Since Ian’s depression kicked in, she has Googled manic depression and bi-polar disorder and, while some of what she read was beyond her comprehension, she does remember that traumatic events can trigger or worsen an episode. 

The last thing she wants is to see Ian get worse. It has been terrible watching him go through this depression. She had tried – heck everyone had tried – to talk him out of it, to cheer him up and convince him to participate in life again but the depression had taken a strong hold and she feared for her best friend. Seeing him crash and sleep though the better part of almost two weeks has been terrible and now this happens, just when she had started to see sparks of life in Ian again.

Svetlana returns a moment later with a crying baby in one arm and towels for Ian and Mandy to clean the blood off their faces draped over her arm. Mandy notices she still hasn’t let go of the gun. 

Ian does a quick swipe of his own face to get the blood out from under his nose then he turns to Mandy and cups her chin in his hand as he dabs gently at her cheek. Mandy winces as it touches the bruise and Ian mumbles apologies. Not for the first time, Mandy secretly wishes the sweet redhead had been straight. Her best friend has been kinder to her than any other man, and that includes all of the ones she had actually slept with! Mandy leans her head on Ian’s shoulder and Ian tilts his head into hers. 

“How do I keep ending up with assholes?” Mandy says as one tear escapes her eye. She isn’t sure who she is more angry with – Ketyana for being an abusive asshole or herself for crying and showing her weakness. She swallows down any more tears quickly. “Growing up as Terry’s punching bag I always swore it would never be me when I got older.”

Svetlana raises her eyebrows, “Terry hit you, too?”

Ian huffs, “Yeah, that evil sadistic prick that you seem so fond of… that’s not all-” Ian catches himself before he lets out Mandy’s secret.

Mandy looks up at Svetlana and sees understanding dawn in her eyes. Without Ian saying anything, she knows.

“My father… he hurt me, too,” Svetlana says as she sits next to Mandy.

“Men are assholes,” grumbles Mandy. “Maybe not Ian,” she concedes and bumps his shoulder affectionately.

“No,” Ian says, “I’m with you. We’ve sure all got shit fathers, anyway.”

They hear someone come through the front door and a moment later Mickey comes in the room and looks around at the scene. Blood is splattered in several places around the floor. The shelf is knocked over, its contents splayed out around the room. Svetlana is sitting in her robe on the bed with a gun in her hand bouncing a whimpering Yevgeni in the crook of her arm. Mandy is leaning into Ian holding a bloody towel to her face. And Ian is sporting a black eye and blood is drying on his chin and chest.

“What the fuck happened in here?!”

“Kenyata’s gone,” Mandy mumbles.

“What, you three ganged up on the stupid prick? Shit, wish you had waited for me. Wanted to kill that mother-fucker for weeks.”

Svetlana gets off the bed and walks towards the door. “We don’t need you to get rid of useless man,” she says as she passes Mickey on her way back to her room. 

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Mickey hollers at her back before turning back to Mandy, “What? That fucker Mike Tyson your ass again? Or lemme guess, you fall again?”

“Fuck you, Mick. He’s gone and this time I’m not letting him come back.”

“No. This time _I’m_ not letting him come back. Fucker shows up here again, he’s meeting the business end of my glock. No more crying wolf, Mandy.”

“What do you mean?!”

“The hell you think I mean? ‘He hit me. He didn’t hit me. I’m leaving him. I’m staying with him.’ You been playing these games for years. You let Lip fuck around with that blonde psycho and you went back to him. Hell, I almost kicked the shit out of this one ‘cause of your bullshit.” Mickey lets out a defeated sigh, “You gotta stop, Mand.”

Mandy fumes. How dare Mickey tell her about relationships? He’s the one that fucked up his own life six ways to Sunday, not standing up to Dad, marrying a whore, and breaking Ian’s heart. Mickey’s decisions had sent away not only his boyfriend but her best friend. Ian was the one person who was kind to her, the one person she could always rely on, the one who had never let her down. He had been her rock through most of high school and no one seemed to care that when Mickey dismissed him, he wasn’t the only one left heartbroken. 

Mandy had broken up with Lip at the same time that Ian left and she couldn’t remember being so lonely in years. Kenyata was a cheating abusive dick, Mickey was a drunken mess, their dad was back in prison, and she was stuck in a house full of whores who spoke to each other in Russian, ignoring her completely. And worst of all was that Ian disappeared and left her with no one.

She gets up and storms past her brother, heading into the kitchen for some ice for her face. She watches out of the corner of her eye as Ian makes his way to Mickey’s room to clean up and presumably hide back under his blankets. Mickey follows him in and she can hear the concern in Mickey’s voice as he asks Ian if he’s OK. 

When Mickey emerges a few minutes later he makes his way to the kitchen, takes a beer out of the refrigerator, and plops down in the seat across from Mandy.

“He OK?” Mandy asks tilting her head towards the room where Ian is undoubtedly going back to sleep.

Mickey looks away and biting down on his lower lip, “I don’t fucking know. Shit, when was the last time he _was_ OK?”

“I don’t know… how long have you been married?” Mandy deadpans.

Mickey raises his eyebrows, purses his lips, and he gives her the finger. 

“Seriously, Mick, you know you don’t have to stay married any more, right?”

“Oh great, I’m gettin’ relationship advice from the girl holding frozen peas to her face.”

Mandy rolls her eyes, “You’re such an asshole sometimes. And besides, I just got rid of my dead weight. Maybe it’s time you did the same?”

“God, you’re a pushy bitch, you know that?”

Mandy gives him a pointed look and a smirk. “Runs in the family, I guess. I just happen to be the pushy bitch whose right.”

Mickey pauses for a beat, “What about the kid?”

“So now you care?”

Mickey huffs and stares at a spot on the floor.

Mandy shrugs, “We take care of him. Wouldn’t be the first kid from the South Side with divorced parents. I can help. Ian seems to like the little rugrat and his family can help too.”

“I don’t have time to deal with that shit right now. I got a business to run and Ian….” Mickey’s voice waivers and Mandy can see a vulnerability in him that surprises even her. Sometimes she still can’t believe how much her hard-ass of a brother cares about the redhead sleeping in the next room. 

“It doesn’t have to be today, Mick. It just… feels like time to get our shit together. What you said... about me… you were right. I’m tired of getting fucked by assholes and you should be tired of getting fucked over by Dad.”

“Jesus… we done here, Oprah?” Mickey downs the rest of his beer and stomps off to the living room where he flops onto the couch and pretends to watch TV. But Mandy can see the cogs in his mind turning. She smiles internally. Sometimes her brother is so transparent that she wonders how she ever missed what was going on between him and Ian for so long. She has done her job though, planted the seed. 

She’s already forced one dumb-ass man in her life to get his act together and, even though Lip didn’t take her with him, she will always feel a little bit of second-hand pride that she was the one who helped him get out of the South Side. Now she just needs to fix the two other dumb-ass men she loves. She makes a promise to herself to help Ian out of his depression and to help her brother realize that he deserves happiness too. And maybe, just maybe, she can try to find some happiness for herself along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really long hiatus between updates to this fic. End of the school year stuff has had me swamped. Thanks for your patience and for sticking with this story during the long updating gaps. Hope you liked my take on Mandy. Ian’s disappearance after season 3 had to have been almost as hard on her as it was on Mickey but that perspective kind of got lost in season 4. I wanted to explore how difficult it was for her to lose her best friend and boyfriend at the same time while watching her brother suffer through his loos as well. And, it’s high time she got rid of Kenyata and realized that she deserved so much better… they all do.


End file.
